


Caught Off Guard

by lipstickliterature



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bodyguard Romance, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Non-Binary Character, F/F, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Fiction, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipstickliterature/pseuds/lipstickliterature
Summary: When the rising star of the fashion industry, Holland Bellerose is robbed at gunpoint, her mother forces her to hire private security to ensure her safety. Holland does everything she can to get the bodyguards fired, but what she doesn't expect is to fall in love with one. Shenanigans, hijinks, and kisses ensue.
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hi i just wanted to post the first few chapters of my sapphic wip to see what everyone thinks of it. this is a new adult romance that is an original work with original characters. let me know in the comments what you think!

H olland Bellerose was never very good at guarding her heart. She was a whirlwind of ideas and aspirations, her mind a constant loop of things that had yet to be done and how she would be the first to do them. Many a time, in the midst of her wishful chaos, Holland forgot that she could  _ feel _ . It was like her brain jumped before her heart could catch up. 

And the public couldn’t get enough of it. The front covers of magazines spoke volumes.  _ Holland Bellerose is a cold-hearted bitch and we want more _ , they said.  _ Holland Bellerose has no time for love, she’s got a business to run _ , they exclaimed. But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Holland loved her mother, who had been her rock, her shining light in every bout of darkness. She loved her friends, the ones that always stood on the sidelines and cheered, no matter the occasion. And she loved her work.  _ Fuck _ , she loved it. Her dreams swam with visions of pleated skirts and fitted turtleneck sweaters and the sounds of heels clacking powerfully down a Paris runway. She was full of love, even bursting with it. Holland doubted anyone had ever loved as much as she. 

What they meant was that Holland Bellerose did not have time for romance. And they were right. Holland didn’t do the romance thing. She did stolen kisses in taxi cabs and soft hands sliding beneath shirts in the lost hours of late nights. She did girls whose faces blended together in her memory and would provide her with feel-good moments she would remember with a pleasant smile the next day. She never learned their names or occupations, never asked if they had dreams or aspirations because she was too busy thinking of her own. And Holland was okay with that. Eating, breathing, fashion, and business; these were her necessities. Romance was trivial and Holland did not have time for trivialities. 

However, this tunnel-vision was not always productive. Holland put her heart and soul into every detail of every project she had ever made. Even dating back to the third grade, when she was adamant that sewing was a science and therefore no one could stop her from creating an outfit from a needle and thread for her science fair project. She couldn’t count the number of sleepless nights she spent mulling over ideas and designs and innovations of fashion. She spun criticism into miracles until there was nothing left but praise. Her passion did not allow for failure. She knew she was better,  _ smarter _ , than any other mogul her age; and she wasn’t afraid to let it be known. That mindset is how Holland became known to the public eye as a stone cold nightmare. Other brands were hesitant to work with her, afraid she’d bulldoze any partnership that was anything less than perfect. Holland applauded them for that; they should be afraid. She was building her empire and she would strike down anyone that was dumb enough to get in her way. 

What the public, the tabloids, and the rival brands didn’t know was that passion? It makes you weak. It leaves you forgetful and vulnerable and stupid. It makes you so confident that you’ll race to the finish line so fast you won’t realize that there is no finish line until the ground disappears from beneath your feet and suddenly you’re falling, falling, falling…

Falling into...  _ what _ ?

Holland Bellerose was never very good at guarding her heart. It seemed she might have to find someone to guard it for her.


	2. Chapter 2

“This is unacceptable. You were instructed to have the drafts finished by—,” Holland checked her watch, “right fucking now. I’m supposed to have our proposal on O’Connery’s desk by the end of the day tomorrow. Do you know what that means? I am going to have to fix your inevitably plentiful mistakes in less than a day. Have the drafts in my hand no later than six o’clock or you can find somewhere else to work.”

Holland hit the ‘end call’ button so hard she almost broke a nail. This was the last thing she needed. She had promised the head designer at La Rue she would have Céleste’s proposal for a lingerie collaboration project finished by Friday, and she intended to keep that promise, even if she had to stay up all night revising the plans until they were perfect. She itched to just snatch it up from her employees and complete the entire project herself, ensuring its perfection, except the last time she did that someone had dumped hot coffee all over her desk in retaliation. Suffice to say, Holland had learned her lesson.

All around her, people hustled past frantically, most on phone calls, attempting to balance their cell phones between their shoulder and their face while they sipped coffee and carried files and poster boards and laptops to important meetings. The halls of Céleste Fashion Co. were only quiet in the late hours of the middle of the night, and even then employees were seated in their offices pulling late nights, desperately attempting to finish project deadlines. 

Those employees had been interviewed and vetted by Holland herself upon the grand opening of Céleste’s first American branch in Chicago, Illinois just a little over four years ago. Holland’s mother, Evelyn Bellerose founded Céleste in Paris, France in 1990, after graduating with a bachelor's degree in business and management with a minor in sociology from Sorbonne University. She hired local designers, illustrators and models that she knew would capture French culture in the way she had so envisioned upon the creation of her company. Céleste’s business skyrocketed when locals saw what Evelyn Bellerose was attempting to accomplish, and this success led to the creation of more branches in more major cities across the globe, each focusing on learning and exploring the culture of the area, instead of forcing Western culture everywhere it went. Evelyn wanted multiple stories and influences for her brand instead of focusing on singular stories and experiences. And now there are branches in 18 different countries, the newest being the American branch that Holland was gifted when she graduated from college at 24. 

‘Gifted’ actually isn’t the right word. Holland had  _ earned _ her position as head designer. She had interned at three of her mother’s branch companies for six years while taking online classes in fashion and business. Her mother required that she study multiple cultural and geographical influences of fashion, and how they differed from each other, before she earned the position of head designer. Holland had been sent to the branches in Rio de Janeiro, Tokyo, and New Delhi, each for two years, to study how each country’s history had shaped and influenced modern fashion. During her internships she had worked with graphic artists, stylists, models, and designers to create some of the most beautiful pieces of clothing and jewelry she had ever seen. It was everything she had been dreaming of since she was a child, finally coming to life because she had willed it to. Holland was grateful to her mother for giving her these experiences, because she truly felt she wouldn’t be able to do her job as well as she did without them. She even spoke three languages she hadn’t spoken before, albeit not very well. 

Now, here Holland stood, in the lobby of a building she called her own. Sometimes, when she was alone, she would spin around in slow circles, still taking it all in even after four years. The building was built sort of like a hotel, where the floors above were visible from the central lobby. Holland watched as people hurried down the catwalk over her head, and listened to the elevators dinging rapidly. The walls were white and black marble, except for the front wall facing the city, which was crafted entirely of pink-tinted glass made to make the lobby look like a rose gold dream fit for Aphrodite herself. On each side of the lobby, behind the front desk, were marble staircases stopping at each of the six floors above. On the wall underneath the stairs was a stream of water, constantly flowing. There were pink and white alternating chairs lined up on the walls for those waiting to speak with Holland or her employees, and pots of roses on tables strewn throughout the space. Right at the entrance was Céleste’s simplistic logo painted in glittering gold on the floor. The paint reflected light, making the logo seem like it was shimmering in the sunlight beaming down on it. Everything about this place was breathtaking, of course, considering Holland helped to design it herself. 

“Holland!” A voice called from the stairs. Holland looked up to see Adelaide Everett, Céleste America’s director of art. She was also Holland’s best friend and closest confidant. Holland had hired Adelaide before the American branch of Céleste had even opened. She had still been in the planning stages of hiring and building when she had heard noise that  _ the _ Adelaide Everett was looking for new work, and Holland had snatched her up immediately. Adelaide had worked for multiple high-end rival designers, and her name was well known in the business. She was the lead artist in a 2016 charity campaign for victims of domestic violence for her last employer that had everyone’s jaws on the floor, including Holland’s. Of course, Adelaide had been sought after by more companies than just Céleste, but she had found herself interested in Evelyn Bellerose’s business ventures and decided she would take Holland up on her offer. When they first met, Holland was surprised to find out how shy and humble Adelaide was. Their entire first conversation consisted of Adelaide blushing and stuttering over every word, telling Holland how much she admired her mother’s work and how excited she was to start working for Céleste. Holland had found this endearing. In her business, people tended to fake every word, every emotion, every laugh until they had made it to the top. Holland was looking for genuinity in her employees, and she had seen it in Adelaide. She had grown so fond of Adelaide that she had started grabbing coffee with her outside of work to share their thoughts and bounce ideas off of each other, but that had quickly turned into gossipping and laughing and just having fun. Adelaide had quickly become the sister she had never had. Most of their time outside of work was spent with each other, and Holland wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Adelaide descended down the steps as quickly as she could, obviously in a rush. Her straight, shoulder-length, brown hair had been messed up while she was running, and it seemed to be getting caught in her lip gloss. She was dressed in one of her signature pantsuits; today’s was a soft pastel pink with a black button-up shirt beneath. Her black pumps clicked against the marble floor as she made her way to Holland in the center of the lobby.

“Where have you been?” She asked loudly, wincing when she noticed some people had turned to stare at her. Adelaide didn’t often tend to raise her voice. “O’Connery called to confirm that the proposal would be sent by tomorrow night, so I checked with Donovan to make sure his team was on-schedule, but he said it couldn’t be finished by—”

Holland cut her off. “Addy, slow down and walk with me.” Holland made her way to the stairs, not looking back to see if Adelaide was following her, because she knew she was. “I already spoke to Donovan. The proposal will be finished by the end of the day. As for the revisions, I’m most likely not going to have a lot of time to complete them, so I’ll probably be spending the night here. Again.” Holland sighed. She loved her job, but she also missed her bed. And her cat. She could hear them both calling her name from here. 

“You can’t keep doing this, Hol,” Adelaide said softly as they climbed up the stairs to the sixth floor. “Didn’t your doctor tell you that you needed to minimize stressors to lower your  _ dangerously high blood pressure _ ?” 

Holland flitted her hand in the air as if to brush off the comment. “Oh, what does he know? He certainly doesn’t know I have a job to do. Is blood pressure even real or is it an American scam created to drain money into...what do you call it...Big Pharma?” Her French accent stuck out like a sore thumb when she spoke English words she wasn’t used to using.

Adelaide snorted. “You’re avoiding. Stop avoiding.”

“It’s not a big deal! Besides, you and Julien will keep me company, right?” Holland batted her eyelashes and stuck her painted bottom lip out. She didn’t know why she did it; her face was too sharp for it to be a cute gesture.

“What help do you think Julien will be in drafting a proposal for a lingerie collaboration?”

“Snacks and drinks,” Holland said, making Adelaide laugh.

Julien Chastain was Holland’s best friend from France. Julien had moved into the apartment next door to Holland’s in Paris when they were both just six years old. He had invited her over to his apartment to play with some new toy he’d gotten for his birthday, and Holland didn’t remember it much, but they’d been inseparable ever since. Julien was kind of an asshole, one of those attractive airheaded types that never seemed to be able to stick to a place or a person or idea, except for Holland. She still doesn’t know why he chose her as his forever friend when everything else in his life seemed to be so temporary. When Holland left for Rio De Janeiro, she was a mess. She hadn’t realized how much she had loved Julien and had counted on him being by her side until she was in the middle of a foreign city with nothing but the memory of him standing next to her. Of course, they had kept in touch, making sure to text and call each other at least every other day for the next six years. While she was abroad, Julien had made something of a name for himself online. He called himself a ‘social media influencer’ but from what Holland understood, all he did was play video games in front of a camera. Nevertheless, she was proud of the life he had built for himself. When Holland had settled in Chicago in 2016, Julien surprised her with the news that he had decided to come live in Chicago as well. He had said something about gaming conventions and broadening his potential audience, but she silently suspected he’d missed her. He had even shed a few tears when she picked him up from the airport. Since then, Julien, Adelaide, and herself had become somewhat of a trio. Julien had taken to calling them the Windy City Gang, but Holland and Adelaide elected to ignore the nickname.

The girls approached a large set of double glass doors, the entrance to Holland’s office. Holland was the type of boss that did not have anything to hide from her employees, and she sure hoped they had nothing to hide from her, so she had opted for an office that would allow her to be aware of what was happening in her building at all times. It was as useful as it was inconvenient. Any spur of the moment hookups had to be done in her car, and Holland had found that most women didn’t enjoy meeting for sex in a parking garage. She could understand why. 

“Whatever,” Adelaide sighed. “At some point you’re going to have to slow down. You can’t keep going like this forever.”

“Who says that?” Holland asked, pausing with her fingers wrapped around the golden door handle to her office. 

“God, probably.”

“Darling, I am God.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Adelaide said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be back tonight with gallons of coffee and Julien.”

“It’s a date!” Holland called as Adelaide turned to make her way back down the stairs, presumably to the third floor where the graphic artists, photographers, and illustrators were located. 

She made her way into her office and dropped down into the chair at her desk. As offices go, it wasn’t bad. Light pink carpet, a glass desk, and a tall, white, leather chair she estimated she spent more time in than her house. There were two black leather chairs on the other side of her desk for casual meetings with employees, investors, and friends. Frames littered her desk, displaying pictures from her time abroad, photos of her mother, Julien and Adelaide, and even her cat, Pickles. This office felt more like home to her than home did. 

Holland toed off her stilettos and pulled her knees to her chest, studying the file that lay open on top of her keyboard. It was everything she had collected for the lingerie collaboration. Communications had created a survey and conducted a study on demographics that were most likely to buy and wear lingerie, and what they wanted to see from their purchases. There were fabric swatches, blueprints of brassiere designs, color samples, and notes from her coworkers, debating what would sell the best. Holland had also gathered La Rue’s history of lingerie selection and decided that the Céleste/La Rue collaboration needed to be something completely unique from what had already been done. It seemed obvious, but lately, the big name brands had just been recycling old trends and claiming it as a resurgence. Bold of them to assume Holland wasn’t scrutinizing their every play.

After what felt like hours of making notes regarding the lingerie campaign, working on a few of her other obligations, and drafting emails, there was a knock at Holland’s office door. She looked up to see Donovan, the intern whom she had chastised on the phone earlier. Holland motioned for him to come in. 

Upon entering, he looked a bit ill. “Afternoon, ma’am. My team and I were able to finish the proposal. Sorry for the misunderstanding.” He offered her the file he was holding in his shaky hand.

Holland gave him a small smile. “Thank you. I hope you know that I hired you for a reason, Donovan. You show big potential. That’s why I expect big things from you. This work, it’s not just a job, it’s a career.” Holland wasn’t very good with words or people, so she hoped she was able to convey everything she meant. She didn’t want to be a bad boss, and she wasn’t. She wanted her employees to know how difficult it was to make something of yourself in this business, and she wouldn’t be doing them any favors by granting them too much leeway. 

Donovan nodded and returned her smile, giving a small wave before leaving Holland’s office.

Holland let out a deep sigh and leaned back in her chair. Sometimes, being so critical and mean took a toll on her. It’s why the press had her labeled as an egocentric millionaire heiress. They weren’t able to see it from the inside; her own long nights, the meetings to speak to every employee about their thoughts on a project or campaign, and conversations like the one she just had with Donovan. Holland wasn’t a bitch or a tyrant, she was just someone who liked to get things done. 

The time on her computer read 5:16. 

Adelaide and Julien would be here any minute to get started on revisions, and Holland groaned internally at the long night she had ahead of her. She could already feel the exhaustion settling deep into her bones. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to rest her eyes for just a few minutes before they arrived. 

Holland was asleep before her head even hit the desk. 

༻༺

“ _ Bonjour, bonjour, _ ” a teasing voice called, waking Holland from her slumber. “The life of the party has  _ arrived _ .”

Holland groaned. Julien. 

Holland’s bones popped noisily as she sat up, drowning out the noise of Adelaide and Julien quietly bickering with each other. “Oh,  _ mon Dieu, _ ” she yawned and blew a long strand of her red hair out of her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Just past six,” Adelaide said from the door as both she and Julien walked in. 

Adelaide’s hands were full with files and samples and her laptop, while Julien was balancing a variety of different takeout foods and alcoholic beverages. 

“Forty-five minutes of sleep tonight,” Holland hummed. “Beats last night’s thirty-two.”

“How are you still alive?” Julien deadpanned. He had struggled all the way to Holland’s desk before finally dropping everything he was carrying unceremoniously in front of her. A can of beer rolled towards the end of the desk and he let it fall as he fixed the collar of his oversized striped button-up and ran a hand through his nearly jet black hair, touseling it how he liked it. 

“Coffee and spite.”

“Addy, we need to separate her.”

Adelaide threw herself into one of the chairs opposite Holland’s desk. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘sedate.’”

“Exactly.” Julien sat down in the other chair next to Adelaide, immediately propping his feet up on Holland’s desk.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to put your big man feet on my desk before you actually listen to me?” Holland asked, throwing a package of takeout silverware at his head.

Julien scrunched his face up at her, making his already prominent dimples even deeper, before putting his feet back where they belonged. 

The three of them passed the food and drinks around until everyone had what they wanted, and began to dive into work.

“Do you think the racerback design pairs well with the lace, or is it too much?” Adelaide asked, stuffing her mouth with an egg roll. “With a regular bra I can see the design appeal, but for lingerie don’t we want a more revealing type of brassiere?” 

Julien immediately looked up from his sushi at this. “I agree with Adelaide. Less is more.”

“It’s good to see you’re as unhelpful as always,” Holland said, rolling her eyes as Julien smiled at her cheekily. “Anyways, that’s not always the case. The majority of participants in our survey responded that they wanted to see lingerie with support for bigger cup sizes, which racerbacks provide. We also found many people wear lingerie outside of their house, and for as long as an entire work day. The trick is making it sexy and desirable while still providing that structural support.”

Adelaide nodded. “That sounds good. As for stockings, I know the responses showed that people that wear stockings don’t seem to like the button-hook design, so I helped the team create a less complicated snap design that makes for an easier wear.”

Holland dug through the file for the paper with the stocking plans on it. She had already seen it and admired the idea, but she wanted to refresh her memory. “That was a good call. We want to make our clothing as accessible as possible, and I think that makes it a lot less complex for our wearers.”

Holland and Adelaide continued to riff off each other regarding colors and patterns. This was the first of many proposals, so it didn’t necessarily have to be perfect, but Holland knew other brands would never take her seriously if she didn’t deliver perfection during every single step of every single project. She had spoken with other designers and executives before that had brushed her off as young and whimsical, a product of nepotism. Her favorite pastime was to remember the looks on their faces when she proved them wrong.

Adelaide stood up and stretched her arms above her head, cracking her fingers and letting out a deep breath. “It’s midnight, Holland. I don’t know how you do this so often.” Her makeup was smudged and her face was soft and sleepy. She had the kind of face that made you want to pinch her cheeks.

Holland’s chest tightened. She, too, had often wished there was an easier way to do this job. One that would allow her to travel more of the world that she had gotten such a small taste of. One that would allow her to get more than 25 hours of sleep a week. But every time she tried to think of a way, she came up short. And it was because there was no other way. This would be her life forever.

“Me either,” she said softly, pillowing her head in her hands while she watched Adelaide try and wake Julien. He had fallen asleep sometime during the discussion about thongs versus g-strings and had been snoring ever since. As Holland watched her friends, she felt an unexpected warmth fill her heart. They didn’t have to be here tonight, especially Julien, but they’d elected to stay with her so she wouldn’t have to spend another night in her office alone. She couldn’t imagine doing any of this without them. Without their support, she would have snapped underneath the pressure of it all. 

Julien reluctantly woke and they all began to clean the haphazard mess of beer cans and hard lemonade bottles and empty boxes of food. None of them spoke but it was a comfortable silence. 

When they finished, Julien pulled his keys from his pocket. “Are we good to head out?”

Holland sat back into her chair. “You guys can go, I still need to organize these files and draft the email to O’Connery. It shouldn’t take me very long.”

Adelaide frowned. “Are you sure you can’t do that tomorrow?” She sounded skeptical, like she didn’t trust Holland to only organize the files and draft an email. That was fair, considering that one time Holland promised her she would leave Céleste by one in the morning and then Adelaide found her passed out at her desk at nine in the morning with frantic sketches of new designs.

“Adelaide, I  _ promise _ that I’ll leave by one o’clock at the latest. What do you call it? I pinky swear.” Holland stuck out her pinky finger that ended in a pale pink acrylic nail, almost as sharp as a knife. 

Both Adelaide and Julien stared Holland down for twenty seconds before Adelaide sighed, wrapping her own pinky finger around Holland’s. Julien tried his hardest to wrap his finger around both of theirs before they all erupted into sleepy laughter. 

“If I come in tomorrow and find you slumped over this desk, we are going to have  _ words _ , Holland Amélie Bellerose,” Adelaide threatened as she gathered up her things.

“Yeah, yeah, I understand,” Holland laughed. She waved and bid her friends goodnight as she watched them leave her office. Her mood instantly turned sour as she was left alone, and she wanted nothing more than to finish her work and go home to her cat. 

The only sound Holland heard for the rest of the night was the click of her nails on her keyboard, and the scratch of her pencil as she wrote a few final notes in her files for the collaboration. By the time she was done, the silence of finished work was music to her ears.

She tucked her laptop into her bag, along with the finalized files. It was as if a weight was lifted off her shoulders the moment she crossed the threshold of her office and into the hallway. It was a rare night where she had no more work to do until the next morning, a night where she could get a healthy amount of sleep with no guilt weighing heavily on her chest.

Once she made it to the front door, she went through the mechanics of locking the doors to the building. The front door locked automatically, and once she entered her code she had 30 seconds to leave the building. Any movement detected inside afterward would trigger the alarms and signal the local authorities. Usually, it was useful and sensible, except for the one unfortunate night Holland managed to drop her bag on the way to leave after she had entered her code, her papers spilling haphazardly across the floor of the lobby. She hadn’t been able to pick them back up before the timer ran out, and long-story-short, the police were not amused at her delirious explanation at four in the morning. 

Holland felt the bitter November cold hit her face as she opened the door, and she wrapped her peacoat tighter around herself. It was moments like these where she cursed the Chicago weather, longing for a warm summer in Paris. 

The parking garage was only a five minute walk from Céleste, and Holland usually considered it a nice, peaceful walk where she could wind down from whatever stress she’d gathered from work that day. The streets were always void of people when she left, but the city was still bright and buzzing and she reveled in the sound of honking taxi cabs and music from nearby clubs. 

Holland was only feet away from the parking garage when she was abruptly stopped by the feeling of something hard and cold pressing into her back. Her gasp was cut off by a hand wrapping around her face, leather clad fingers muffling her voice.

“Give me the bag,” a gruff, male voice demanded, and Holland almost gagged at the feeling of his breath against her ear. 

The thing was, Holland was rich. Like, _ rich  _ rich. Lives in a mansion with three cars parked in the garage rich. Her home had been broken into at least three times. She’d been pickpocketed at subway stations, and had her wallet stolen more times than she could count. But never had she had a gun pointed at her before. At least she could cross something off her bucket list.

Holland lifted a heeled foot and kicked back into his knee as hard as she could. The man released her from his grip and staggered backwards. Holland would have enjoyed his pained moan had she not whirled around and seen him pushing himself back to a standing position, with a gun aimed straight at her head. He wasn’t very tall, maybe 5’7 at most, and he was covered in black clothes from head to toe. The black mask pulled over his face left her only able to determine that the man was white, but it was too dark outside to try and discern what color eyes he had. 

Holland tried to ignore the blood rushing in her ears, and the adrenaline that made her feel as if she had just finished running a marathon. She did not have very many options. She could run, but she’d be risking being shot in the back. She could try and fight, but he had a gun and she was in high heels, and she didn’t quite appreciate those odds. She could relent, and give him her bag, but she had everything in there. Her keys, her phone, her laptop, her files. All her work would be gone, and she would be stranded. And there was no way to be sure he wouldn’t shoot her anyways, if not because he was a deranged psychopath, then to ensure she wouldn’t go running her mouth to the authorities. However, she was Holland Bellerose, and she would not go down without a fight. 

Holland pulled her bag in front of her as a makeshift shield and willed her voice not to shake as she said the dumbest words to ever come out of her mouth. “Or what?”

The man made a noise that could be described as a growl, before lunging for her.

Holland darted out of the way and sent a fist flying towards her attacker’s face. She had never thrown a punch before, but she figured now was as good a time as any. Holland held back a gasp when her hand made contact with the man’s face. Pain laced its way from her knuckles up her arm. The man shouted obscenities at Holland, but she could not quite tell what he was saying, as her ears were ringing and her focus honed to her throbbing hand. She could barely move her fingers, her knuckles refusing to flex, but still, she turned away from her attacker and attempted to run.

A gunshot rang out and Holland screamed, falling to the ground and curling around herself in some preservational instinct. She didn’t feel like she’d been shot, but perhaps she had been, and it was just shock watering down any feelings of pain. Her ears were still ringing and she didn’t want to move, didn’t want to even breathe. She was going to die here tonight. The movies were right about your life flashing before your eyes in the moments before death. Except Holland found herself thinking of all the things she  _ hadn’t _ done. She had never seen the Hollywood sign in person. She had never made a snow angel. She had never fallen in love. In this fleeting moment, Holland really,  _ really _ wanted to fall in love. 

“Next time, I won’t miss,” the man said, and Holland could tell he was standing directly over her. She was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering. She  _ hated _ being afraid. She cried out as he pressed the gun into the back of her head. It felt like a death sentence. “Give me the bag, or you die.”

Holland let out a soft sob before throwing her bag away from her,  _ throwing her life away from her _ . The feeling was kin to that of someone pulling her heart from her chest and severing its connection to her veins, leaving her lifeless, worthless. 

The man went for the bag and Holland acted quickly. She pulled off her shoes, leaving them on the dirty sidewalk, and forced herself to stand. She leaned against the side of the parking garage for only a moment before running to the elevator inside. Her fingers pressed the buttons incessantly while the rest were held against her mouth to muffle her gasped breaths. It felt like lifetimes had passed before the elevator dinged and opened up in front of her. She lunged inside and pressed the ‘CLOSE DOOR’ button until, finally, the doors began to slide shut.

Holland held her breath, sure the man would catch up to her, stick his boot inside to keep the doors from closing, and shoot her between the eyes. This isn’t how she wanted to die. Not in a dingy elevator in a random parking garage with no one to hold her hand as she took her final breath. 

Somehow, by the grace of a god Holland would have to thank later, the elevator doors closed with a hiss, and she was safe. No blood had been spilled, and she wouldn’t die tonight. 

Holland slid down the wall until she was curled up into a ball on the elevator floor, and cried quietly to herself into the late hours of the morning. 


	3. Chapter 2

Holland’s mansion had turned into a madhouse over night. Cops walked in and out of the front door like this was their own home, exchanging information, writing down and sketching things based on every detail given to them. Usually, police departments only sent two deputies to handle cases like this, however, Holland Bellerose was one of the biggest names in Chicago, and the police chief clearly did not want any mistakes to be made concerning her case. A security team milled around the three-story building, adding cameras and alarm systems to every window, door, and air conditioning vent that could be used to gain access to the home. Adelaide and Julien were standing in the kitchen, arguing with two of the dozens of cops, clearly unimpressed with how they were handling the situation. 

After sitting inside the elevator for what she had come to learn had been six hours, a stranger had finally stepped inside on her way to work, and found Holland curled around herself with streaks of dried mascara running down her face. The stranger, Mary, had helped Holland up, comforted her and assured her she was safe, and then let her use her phone to call Adelaide, who had brought in an army of reinforcements. 

Suddenly, a sharp whistle came from the top of the winding staircase, and an automatic hush fell over the house, everyone’s gaze seeking out the noise. At the center of the catwalk stood Evelyn Bellerose in all her glory. Her sleek, platinum hair was styled in a straight bob that curled in towards her neck, and she wore an entirely baby blue pantsuit with stunning heeled, white boots. Her face was stony and her blood-red lips were turned down in what Holland interpreted as complete irritation. She looked every bit expensive as she was, and perhaps that was how she commanded the attention of the entire room. She stalked towards the steps and began a slow descent as she spoke. 

“My daughter has endured hours of questioning and interrogation, and I would assume that if you were as good at your jobs as I hope you are, that you would have already gathered all the information that you could possibly need for now. But perhaps my hopes are misleading.” Evelyn’s heels echoed throughout the house as she reached the first floor. “Does anyone disagree?”

Holland would have heard a pin drop in the silence following Evelyn’s question.

“So, we are all in agreement then,” Evelyn smiled coldly. “Fabulous.” 

At this subtle dismissal, all the officers packed up their belongings, grabbing pens and computer cases and cups of coffee before giving quiet nods and walking out the door. Holland could have sworn she heard Adelaide and Julien snickering, and when she turned around to face them she saw them waving sarcastically at the officers they had been arguing with before.

The security team followed suit, speaking with Evelyn’s assistant, Amy, and handing her invoices and guides to the advanced alarm system that had been set up. Soon, the only people left in the house were Holland, Evelyn, Amy, Adelaide, and Julien. 

“Adelaide, Julien, dears,” Evelyn began, her face melting into a softer look than the one she had donned before. “I thank you so much for keeping my daughter company through this horrific experience, but I think it is time for her to get some well-needed rest. I will have Amy contact you both with updates as to Holland’s well-being throughout the day, and I’m sure she would love to see you both again tonight.”

Adelaide walked to the sofa where Holland was curled up under a chenille blanket, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had chilled long before, and pushed a loose, red curl back behind Holland’s ear in a loving manner. Julien followed, pressing a kiss to the top of Holland’s head. For the first time that day, Holland felt truly safe. Her friends muttered quiet promises to return tonight with Holland’s favorite foods and movies, and Holland gave them a soft smile before they walked out the front door.

“And Amy,” Evelyn said sweetly, turning to her assistant,“I would adore a coffee from that little shop on Roosevelt. You know the one. Cream and two sugars,  _ si vous plait _ .”

“Of course, Mademoiselle,” Amy nodded, her French accent thick. She and Evelyn had flown in from France, and had only arrived an hour before. Of course, she had been orchestrating the situation, even before she had arrived. She had ordered her security company to come install the latest technology they had to offer, and had demanded to speak to the Chief of Police, and she had her media team filtering the police sketch of Holland’s attacker to every news outlet in the country. She was a force to be reckoned with.

Amy was in the middle of pulling open the tall, heavy front door to the mansion when a startled ‘oh!’ left her mouth. This drew Holland’s attention away from her mother and towards the entrance, where an entire crew of people clad in all-black attire were standing, obviously waiting for someone to grant them entrance. They all had similar, dark sunglasses on, making them look very official and intimidating. 

In the very front of the group stood a girl who was at least a head shorter than the rest of her cohorts, but clearly made up for it with muscle and confidence. Her golden hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail that ended halfway down her back, and her leather jacket fit across her wide shoulders like a dream. She smiled and Holland didn’t expect for the air in her lungs to feel like it was being punched out of her chest.

“Oh, brilliant,” Evelyn drawled, making her way to the foyer to greet the guests. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so early.”

“Ms. Bellerose,” the girl said, crossing the threshold into Holland’s house. Her voice was sweet and syrupy, and she was obviously from the South. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and it made her look so small inside a house that was so big. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Olive Shaw and I’ve assembled a team of security, including myself, based on the documents you sent to us.”

Holland stood up from her perch on the couch at this new information. Her cheeks flamed when she remembered she was only wearing an old pair of grey sweatpants, a black sports bra, and a fluffy blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She longed to freeze time and make a quick dash to her closet. “A security team already came through and set up an alarm system,” she questioned. “ _ Maman _ , don’t tell me you’re installing two different alarm systems. That seems quite unnecessary.”

Evelyn swiveled to Holland with her hands clasped together in front of her and pursed her lips. “I did not want it to have to come to this,  _ mon chéri _ , however, criminals pointing guns at you is where I draw the line. I have hired this security team from Blackwell Security Incorporated to serve as your personal security starting today. This company is well revered, and highly recommended by other high risk clientele.”

The blanket fell from Holland’s shoulders to pool around her feet on the floor, and her jaw dropped along with it. “You mean like— _ bodyguards _ ? As in no privacy, no alone-time, no secrets, honest-to-god  _ bodyguards _ ? Absolutely not.” 

Color rose to Evelyn’s cheeks and Holland blanched. Her mother so rarely got honestly, truly angry, and Holland detested being around to see it, especially when  _ she _ was the cause of it.

“ _ Holland Amélie Bellerose _ .” Oh, dear god. “You are my only daughter and a man threatened to  _ shoot you _ less than twenty four hours ago—”

“Trust me, I know, I was there!” Holland interrupted. She glanced at the security team standing awkwardly by the door, obviously wishing they could disappear. 

Evelyn stood taller, jutting out her chin and turning her nose up, clearly done with the conversation. “I do not care if you are an adult, I do not care if you think you can make your own decisions. From now until I die, you will allow these people to ensure your safety. This is the end of this discussion.  _ C'est définitif _ .”

“ _ Maman _ !” Holland shouted, throwing her hands into the air. “How could you hardly expect me to believe that  _ she _ can protect me?” She gestured towards the girl—Olive. Holland felt guilty for bringing her into a fight that didn’t concern her, but at this point it seemed like it was the only argument Holland had against having private security that had any validity. “She looks to be almost a foot shorter than me! How can she protect me better than I can protect myself?”

At this, Olive took her sunglasses off and stepped into the argument, deciding to defend her honor. “Miss Bellerose, I assure you, I am completely qualified to be a part of your private security. My... _ size _ ...will not be a problem.” She quirked a brow in Holland’s direction, and the corner of her lips lifted slightly like she was amused at the accusation.

Holland would have replied to this, except it seemed that every word she had ever known had left her brain once she had taken a look at Olive’s eyes. They were such a light brown that they were almost gold, and the skylight was hitting them so that they were glittering. It rendered Holland speechless. All she could do was let her eyes travel from the top of Olive’s head down to her feet. Everything about her was golden: her hair, her skin, her eyes. It was like looking into the sun.

Olive squinted at Holland confusedly, taking her silence as an invitation to keep speaking, and Holland found that she didn’t even mind. “Today we’ll go over what it means to have ‘bodyguards’ as you put it,” she put this in quotations and chuckled to herself, and Holland felt the blood rising to her face. “I’ll introduce you to your team, the schedule we’ll go by, and all that good stuff.” Her accent was strong. Holland absently wondered how long ago she moved to Chicago.

“It is for your own good, Holland,” Evelyn said, staring Holland down.

“Fine,” Holland blurted, not even looking at her mother, her eyes never leaving Olive’s. 

“Excellent,” Olive said, sauntering up and sticking her hand out to shake Holland’s. “Trust me, you won’t regret it.”

Holland straightened herself up to her full height, even though it wasn’t necessary, as she had probably nine inches on Olive. She also kicked the blanket away from her feet, attempting to look as imposing as possible.

“You better hope I don’t,” she said, and placed her hand in Olive’s, pretending like she didn’t feel the touch all the way down to her bones.

༻༺

“The first order of business is introducing you to your specialized team,” Olive said, placing her bag on Holland’s dining room table. Evelyn had invited them all in to take a seat (though none of them had), and ordered the kitchen staff to bring out a tray of coffees.

She gestured to the person who had remained near her since the team had arrived, obviously her partner in whatever chain of command they all followed. “This is Jax Parker. They’ve worked for Blackwell almost as long as I have, and if I’m not around, Jax will be.”

“Hi, nice to meet you.” Jax smiled, exposing a small gap between their front teeth that Holland thought was  _ so _ chic. Her eyes roamed down to their jacket, and she noticed a little purple pin that said, “they/them.” They had jet-black, curly hair in an afro-style, and their skin was a warm, light brown. They were so conventionally attractive that, without meaning to, Holland blurted out, “have you ever thought of modeling?” Perhaps this situation made her more nervous than she would have liked to admit.

Jax’s dark brown eyes went wide and they glanced at Olive as if looking for help, unsure how to answer this question. “Uh, no?” 

Olive laughed loudly and nudged Jax’s shoulder with her own. “Jax here has always known they wanted to work in private security. I doubt you could wrangle them into modeling.”

Holland, sheepish, said, “I can’t help it. Work is always on the brain.”

Jax relaxed at this and grinned. “At least we have one thing in common.”

Olive rolled her eyes and gestured to the rest of the people behind her. “This is the rest of your team. From left to right we have Daniel Collins, Tara Hunt, Natalia Martinez, and Lawrence Washington. They will be stationed at each entrance to your house when you’re here, and the entrance to your business when you’re there. Jax and I will be the ones to escort you to and from work, as well as any other place you need to go on a day to day basis.”

“Wait,” Holland held up a hand. “Are you telling me I don’t get to drive myself  _ anywhere _ ?”

“Blackwell company policy states that all clientele will be transported by company means unless requested otherwise by the benefactor.”

“Well, I request otherwise,” Holland steepled her fingers in front of her, feeling that it made her look more professional. She doubted her sweatpants were very imposing. 

There was an awkward silence before Olive said, “unfortunately, you are not the benefactor.”

Holland’s jaw clenched before she slowly turned to look at her mother, who was nonchalantly examining her nails. 

Without looking up, Evelyn spoke. “You may go wherever you wish,  _ ma chere _ . As long as one of your guards is driving you.”

Holland felt like there should be smoke coming out of her ears. “So what?” She asked, almost yelling. “I can no longer go anywhere by myself? That is hardly a life worth living!”

“It is better than no life at all,” Evelyn said calmly, and her tone sent a chill down Holland’s spine. “A fate which almost found you just yesterday. Would you like to roll the dice with your life once more?” 

Olive and Jax pursed their lips and looked away from the table, in a gesture of affording some privacy to this conversation. Holland almost laughed deliriously at this. They were going to be watching her every move for years to come. Why pretend that this conversation should be any different?

Holland wanted nothing more than to storm off dramatically, however, she was at risk of looking like a child throwing a tantrum after not getting what she wanted, so she remained seated as she seethed with rage. She glanced at Olive through her lashes, and was relieved to find that she was no longer entranced by the woman’s beauty. This was most likely thanks to the fact that Olive would be tracking Holland’s every move for the rest of her life. 

“I have a proposition for you,” Holland said sternly, her eyes swerving towards her mother. 

Evelyn said nothing, a gesture for Holland to continue.

“If I can prove to you that this company, that these guards,” Holland gestured to the team of people around her, “are completely useless and unable to protect me, you will agree to back off. Let me gamble with my life the way I please. If the best of the best can’t guard me, then who else can?”

The people around her all cast their eyes skyward, looking extremely awkward. It almost made Holland snicker venomously. A group of people who were most likely not very social at all, after spending their entire lives remaining silently vigilant in the background of the lives of other, more important people. Except for Olive. She stared straight at the scene in front of her with thoughtful eyes. She even looked as if she was suppressing a laugh. Holland considered the idea that perhaps Olive had not always been a bodyguard. This peaked her curiosity, but she silenced that part of her brain. She had a job to do. 

Holland’s mother leveled her gaze at her, narrowing her eyes in a way that Holland was sure meant she was seconds away from breaking something. “And how do you propose you would do that, dear?”

Holland winced at the term of endearment that was not uttered endearingly. “If I can successfully manage to evade the supervision of these well-trained professionals, I earn the right to have a say in my own life.”

One of the guards, a tall girl with a pixie cut, put her head in her hands.

“Holland, that is absurd—“ Evelyn began, but Holland, in a daring move, cut her off.

“Is it? Why should we be paying them an outrageous amount of money to protect me with their  _ lives _ , if they can’t even do that? I feel like that is a terrible investment idea.”

Evelyn pinched her nose between her fingers and took a deep breath in and out. 

Before she could speak, Olive did. “Mademoiselle Bellerose, I can guarantee that, while under our protection, your daughter will not be able to … escape.” She cast her eyes towards Holland, an accusatory gaze. “We are trained professionals, and we are all very good at our jobs. We deal with rebellious children every day, and none have ever been able to outsmart us. To be fair, they are usually not twenty-eight years old, however, I am confident in our abilities to guard your daughter. You would not regret hiring us.”

Evelyn stood from her chair, the wood legs scraping the marble floor, echoing loudly in the silent room. She remained quiet for a moment before straightening her collar and taking four small strides to stand directly in front of Olive. 

Holland’s jaw dropped as Evelyn stuck her hand out for Olive to shake. Somehow, something in Olive’s words and demeanor had convinced her mother that she was to be trusted with Holland’s life. Holland didn’t know why, but this fact made the terrible vein in her forehead begin to throb. 

“I trust that you will not let me down, Miss Shaw,” Evelyn said as Olive reached out to clasp their hands together in a promising shake. She turned to Holland, who subsequently shut her mouth before she was reprimanded like a child. “Holland, we have a deal. You are a clever girl,  _ fille _ , but your talents lie in business and fashion, not prison break. If you can prove me otherwise, I will be shocked.”

Holland glared at her mother before standing up. The guards next to Olive all looked like they had been handed a prison sentence. It was quite amusing. Holland would have fun getting them fired.

“Miss Bellerose,” Olive said, with a small smirk on her face. She took a few steps forward until she was standing in front of Holland. Holland had to angle her face down to actually make eye contact with the small woman. “It will be a pleasure working for you.”

Holland narrowed her eyes. She had made a name for herself over the years. According to tabloids and online gossip journals, Holland was an asshole, a wench, an absolute bitch. Holland liked to think of herself as zealous, fiery,  _ smart _ . She had completed every challenge she was faced with, and came out on the winning team. And standing in front of her now was a blindingly beautiful challenge she could not resist. 

“Let the games begin, Olive Shaw.”


End file.
